


between 'goodnight' and 'farewell'

by captain_emmajones



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, Fate, Fluff, Lieutenant Duckling, Smut, alternative universe, captain captain, captain lieutenant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 18:28:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8411920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_emmajones/pseuds/captain_emmajones
Summary: post 6x05 ❁ canon divergence / alternative universe ❁ 4.4k words ❁ angst/smut/fluff in which she is the captain of a pirate ship and a savior, and he is a Navy lieutenant. the story of how they fell in love, and how he had to forget her, for saviors do not get happy endings. “That’s too bad for you, your highness. For you might not forget me ever, but I shall not even remember your name.”for Laura's birthday ♥





	

“ It’s a weird story, theirs. 

 

Ended before it began. 

 

(She meant to love him better. He probably meant to remember her.)

 

.

 

He is a Navy lieutenant and she is the Captain of a pirate ship. It’s her first port of call in months the night she notices him sitting next to his own captain in the back of the tavern, tongue absently licking a leftover of rum over her lower lips.

 

He is quite handsome and stands out in this environment of mediocrity; with his light brown hair, a gaze very blue, something awfully shy, tender, and a smile, oh god, what a smile. She loves how the muscles of his back seem to slightly stretch the cotton of his white shirt, he has given up on his blue vest to her greatest happiness, how the shirt itself is not completely buttoned, leave there instead to the malicious eyes a bit of skin. 

 

The perfect distraction.

 

“Why hello lieutenant,” she’s quick to stumble in the chair in front of him, an impish grin taking over her entire face. 

 

His reaction does not disappoint her: he startles, raising his nose from his chop of beer, and blushes furiously when he catches her eyes, not knowing her own heart misses a bit. (She did not expect his gaze this blue.) 

 

One look from the other man, from that captain with honey curls who considers her, before he simply nods and leaves them alone. To which her victim murmurs “but Liam…?”

 

“So tell me lieutenant: what is the Navy doing in such a mediocre place?” she attacks right away, eager to get into this wonderful duel. 

 

He’s hard to see through, does not offer a smile nor a frown; a bit of a challenge, her dear sailor.

 

“I’d dare to ask you the same question, pirate Captain,” he mumbles and rolls his eyes in annoyance, his tone quite cold and distant. 

 

An ocean of glace is surrounding him. She’s even more fascinated. 

 

She grins, bends over the table to reach for his hand, relishes in the timid pink over his cheeks and in the touch of his calloused fingers beneath her fingertips. 

 

“I do like to find me some pretty lieutenant.”

It is a rare gift, to be able to discover his face can, indeed, get any redder. 

 

(With time, he becomes completely insensible to her attacks of charms. It does not prevent her from trying.) 

 

“Oh and, it’s simply ‘Captain’, lieutenant.” 

 

She intertwines their fingers with nonchalance, watches out for his reaction, biting sinfully the interior of her mouth.

 

A candle reigns on the wooden table; it abandons alluring shadows on his features, traces the arch of his cheekbone and the fullness of his lips. 

 

His hand suddenly closes itself over hers in a masculine gesture, and she gives away a slight gasp of surprise. 

 

(It causes him to smile. Bastard.) 

 

“Alright, pirate Captain.” 

 

An hour later, her chair is now located next to his, and her fingers are lost in the deep brown of his hair, her alcohol breath just underneath his lips. 

 

If her intentions are quite clear, his are less evident; the poor boy has no idea if he should act like a man of honor, and decline her invitation, or melt on her lips and answer to her plea. 

 

She does not care. She is having fun for the first time in months, and he is infuriatingly handsome. 

 

“Oh come on, lieutenant. Give me your name.” 

 

She chuckles when he frowns, nods “no”, and bumps her nose to his. 

 

“You are bloody impertinent, your highness.” 

 

He does not want to call her simply ‘Captain’. Therefore, she has settled for second best. 

 

“Aye?” 

 

“Do not mock my accent or else I will leave this bloody place.” 

 

“Don’t you dare leave me now that I love you.” 

 

It’s a delight, watching him step backwards before catching the amused glimmer in her eyes, and laughing along with her. 

 

“That’s too bad for you, your highness. For you might not forget me ever, but I shall not even remember your name.” 

 

.

 

Fate loves its irony. 

 

But as the sky is wearing its loveliest constellations dress, and she’s saying goodbye to her lieutenant, she thinks fate is also incredibly generous. 

 

The temperature is particularly agreeable that night, a solace to mellow their first ‘goodnight’. The wind is a tender companion against the skin of her neck and floats in the air a scent a little bit like summer itself. 

 

“It has been wonderful to torment you, lieutenant.” 

 

His back is facing her, his features turned towards the sea, his one love. She smiles, and she does not understand the bitterness at the edges of her mouth. 

 

(How heavy is their ‘could have been’ resting on her heart.) 

 

“Aye, your highness. But I believe it was I, in the end, who won our little duel.” 

 

A second, and the blue of his eyes is dancing with her own forest green again. He steals her breath away. 

 

“Perhaps, lieutenant,” she murmurs, and she’s almost stuttering. 

 

But that, she is unable to tell, as her heart is beating far too loud. 

 

In this summer night, he takes a few steps towards her and considers her through his curled eyelashes. 

 

“It has been a pleasure, your highness.” 

 

It is difficult to hold back herself as he considers her with desire and lust and perhaps also the beginning of something more; his mouth is slightly open, begging her to quench his thirst, and everything in him appeals to her.

 

An instant. To taunt fate, throw away each one of her beautiful principles.

And she lifts herself on her tiptoes, her hands coming to cup his jawline, crashes her lips against his, drinks a gasp of surprise. Her tongue finds his in a second; she savours the contrast between the coldness of his skin underneath her fingertips and what she tastes inside, the warmth of rum and him. 

 

He does not dare to touch her, allows her to tangle her hands behind his neck, but stays still, a soldier of marble and reverence. 

 

“There lieutenant. We shall see if you do not remember this kiss.” 

 

Her voice shakes. (She must have underestimated the cold.) 

 

She’s thankful for the darkness surrounding them; he can not tell crimson is her skin’s sovereign. 

 

“Goodnight, your highness.” 

 

.

 

They meet again four months later. He’s the one who finds her. 

 

It’s 10pm and the Lavender Canary is quite the noisy place. To celebrate her second man’s birthday, her crew has decided the whole tavern would have to dance. 

 

“Have you seen my face Rupert?” 

 

As it turns out, she really likes Rupert. And offers him her hand as first dance. 

 

“Okay, but just this once, you hear me?” 

 

And there she is, twirling from one arm to another, her leather pants a quirky view among corset and cotton dress. Her curls stick to her forehead, get tangled in front of her eyes. Who cares? Alcohol has stolen her the pleasure of recognizing faces. 

 

“Ya make a lovely partner, Captain. It’s such a shame ya do not share with us yar talents more.” 

 

“Your irony is misplaced Rupert,” and she laughs, spins, darts, laughs harder. 

 

Her heart is beating so fast in her chest, alcohol adds a rosy hue to her cheeks and pearls of sweat hurtle down her temples. She thinks she is happy, but she knows this kind of happy; the very kind who leaves one feeling quite lonely at 2am. 

 

She chases her morose thoughts with a new mouthful of liquor, the spicy liquid tracing the path to hell in her throat, and grabs the arm of another man. 

 

“Bloody hell, what a view, your highness.” 

 

This voice…

 

In this fog of sparkles and candles, sweat and tasteless perfume, she discerns the serenity of two oceans and an horrendous smile splits her face open. 

 

“Lieutenant.” It’s funny, how much it sounds like a declaration of love.

 

She thinks he hears it too, she figures it so in the way his mouth playfully curls. Her clumsy hands find his neck, brush his cheeks. 

 

“You’re all grown up.” 

 

It makes him laugh, she does not understand. 

 

One second, and his palm cups her jaw while his other fingers try to tame the wildness of her blonde locks. 

 

“I wish I had forgotten you.” 

 

He does not offer her the privilege of being offended; he kisses her instead. Something almost a little bit violent in the way he sucks at her lower lips, inclines her face to deepen their embrace. She sighs happily into his mouth as the word around them disappears. 

 

(His lips taste like strawberry and happiness.) 

 

.

 

The next morning, he is in her cabin to mock her pain. 

 

(He slept on the chair next to her bed. She knows just how bloody uncomfortable this chair is.)

 

“Quite the pathetic view, your highness.” 

 

She clenches her jaw, squishes her eyes, one hand over her forehead to tame her pain. 

 

“Shut up you useless bastard.” 

 

.

 

The useless bastard makes sure she is asleep before he sets sail. 

 

It’s incredibly lonely to wake up without him by her side. It is a terrible thought, that this might be their future: an embrace and goodbye. 

 

I’ll see you in a few months. Perhaps. Be safe. 

 

(What did you expect ? You know where your duty lies.)

 

.

 

They meet again six months later. It infuriates both of them. Because they can not forget each other, and it isn’t for a lack of trying. 

 

He tells her, this wrath strangling his throat, as he throws her against the wall of her cabin to undress her. 

 

“I wish I had never met you.” 

 

She tells him as she bites his lower lips, bites until the iron of taste of blood unfurls in her mouth, nails gripping at his beard. 

 

“Because you think I enjoy our little duel?” 

 

They both know they chose dander because if it weren’t for it, they would be crying in each other’s arms by now. Not much like the lieutenant and the Captain. 

 

He unbuttons her pants in a strangely familiar gesture, I see you’ve seen a few maidens while I was away, tugs on the leather to reveal her arse as she frees his erection. He takes her against the door, her pants hanging at her knuckles while he buries himself inside of her. His breath is scarce in the skin of her neck. She leaves a bite on his shoulder, and probably a few scratches. 

 

“I hate you, your highness,” a kiss just where her heart beats with fury, where the skin of her neck becomes magenta, “I really, really…-” a kiss just below her ear, “- deeply, unconventionally…-” at the corner of her mouth, “-hate you.” 

 

Her mouth hungrily finding his, her fingers tangled in the softness of his hair. 

 

“Not as much as I hate you.” A breath, just to defeat him, knowing well enough she has been losing since day one. 

 

.

 

And so there story goes. 

 

It’s a weird one, theirs. 

 

She still loves it. She thinks he loves it too. 

 

It’s not an easy one, theirs. 

 

Oh how much she can hate it, sometimes. Most of the time. Without him. 

 

(But then again, she’ll bring happiness back to a whole family, and it would make it all so worth it.) 

 

.

 

She is there for the sunrise and the sunset, to make love to him on a beach and tell him how great of a man he is. She is here for hot cocoa stains on his nose and vanilla pastries. 

 

(Sometimes, it scares her to think she may not know him at all. Worse: that he may not know her at all.) 

 

She’s not here for his birthday. Nor for his bad days, days where he would need a shoulder to lean on. Of course she’s not. She has a duty. 

 

(She gave up on him long before meeting him.)

 

She’s not here when Liam ceases at his turn to be here. 

 

She just comes back one day to find another man. Captain Killian Jones. 

 

He changes. It’s overwhelming. 

 

.

 

“I don’t know you, your highness.” 

 

It kills them both because they know, goddamnit, they are perfectly aware of the fact that their love is a gorgeous chimera. 

 

The bitter tears in her throat. “I know that, lieutenant.” 

 

“It is Captain Jones now!” he yells, and for the first time since she knows him, she takes a step back. 

 

His scream cuts her heart open, poisons her blood. It feels a lot like dying suddenly. 

 

She stares at him; him and the fury in the waves of his eyes, him and the spiral of sorrow in his eyes, him and this heart she can not mend. She is unable to breath, to think, lost in a cobweb of pain. 

 

.

 

“Perhaps we should say farewell, this time,” she suggests one morning. 

 

They are both on his ship, the ship he stole from the Navy. He’s laying underneath a white sheet as she looks at the serenity of the waves from the window, her naked legs swinging from the table. 

 

The glimmer in his eyes is horrendous, deeply broken, exhausted. It is forever written all over her heart. 

 

“Is that what you want?” 

 

Her chin trembles. “I don’t know what I want, Jones.” 

 

(She does not want to call him ‘Captain’. He has settled for second best.)

 

A breath, agony. “Perhaps we should try.” 

 

Perhaps one should not hold on to what is irrevocably broken. 

 

.

 

They try.

 

They blame the brightness of an impish sky for the brilliance of their gaze. 

 

Not a word as farewell. 

 

What is there to say? You know how much I have loved you.*

 

.

 

They fail.

 

It’s a lot of crying that day, as she catches his eyes in a crowd of strangers, in a fog of sparkles and corset, and feels her heart beat once again. It’s a lot of screaming, it’s a lot of laughters. 

 

It’s fate’s work. 

 

“Never again, promise? Now matter how hard, we will always hold on.” 

 

His nod full of tears. “I promise, your highness.” 

 

.

 

Promises are chimeras. 

 

Her promises specially must face a redoubtable nemesis: fate. 

 

For that matter, fate does not care that she fell in love with her star. 

 

.

 

It’s a beautiful afternoon of late October. 

 

The forest is a fan of colors: magenta, burgundy, golden corpses lay on the ground. As nature is about to die, it is more alive than ever. 

 

“You know, your highness, we have known each other for six years now,” he murmurs along her collarbone. 

 

He’s sitting against a tree, his leather thighs contrasting with the multi-colored leaves on the ground. Her back is pressed to his chest.   
She loves it; just being here, with him, his scent surrounding her in a loving embrace. One of his palm is playing with her blonde hair as she holds his other one.

 

Yet her heart is heavy. 

 

“What’s your point, Jones?” 

 

There’s a silence then, a silence which only amplifies the weight on her chest. 

 

“Well, I have been thinking for a long time about it, and you must have thought about it too…” he inhales, a hot cloud on her neck, as she holds her breath. “...We could, we should, perhaps stop our activities to be together, your highness.” 

 

A missed heartbeat.

 

Flee.

 

Run as fast you can, run and never look back. 

 

“Jones…-” She’s tearing apart her own heart. “-...I must go.” 

 

Three words, and she’s gone, leaves breaking under her feet echoing the din of his heart shattering. 

 

She does not look back that day. How could she have? She would have stayed.

 

.

 

They are three days away from Christmas when she comes back. 

 

There’s a branch of holly on his desk, he’s wearing a black shirt she offered him long ago - when everything was still possible, bullshit, when she was lying to herself - and she is saying farewell. 

 

He is so happy to see her again, she can barely stand to look into his eyes. 

 

“You must forget me, Jones,” she spits out, forgets to breath in the process. 

 

He does not blink. 

 

(She should have said farewell to lieutenant Jones. It would have been easier.) 

 

The room around them seems to disappear, the furnitures, the smell of candles and chocolate, everything vanishes as she stares at the torment of his ocean eyes. 

 

“May I ask you why, your highness?”

 

It causes her heart to smile, how he still uses this nickname after all of this time, how he murmurs it with utter respect and adoration. 

 

“I can not offer to be with you anymore.” 

 

I can not offer to be your happy ending, my love. 

 

A vein becomes prominent on his temple as he clenches his jaw. He is hurting. She is hurting him. 

 

“Is there…-” a pause, to recompose himself, chin up, chase away lieutenant Jones and let the Captain dominate, “-...is there anyway to change your mind?” 

 

She hates how his voice breaks on the last word, because her legs can not hold her anymore and she wants to run into his arm and never let him go. 

 

“I’m afraid not, Jones.” 

 

He nods. Does not fight: he fought enough for the both of them. There comes a time where the heart must surrender.

 

“We could -,” her chin trembles, prevents her from finishing her sentence. She inhales, sermonises herself. “- we could still see each other, once a year? You wouldn’t remember meeting me, but it would still count right?” 

 

“Perhaps,” she adds a few seconds later, when no sound has come off his mouth yet. 

 

Instead, he stares blankly at her, seems dead inside; no light remains in his ocean eyes. A scream is caught in her throat. 

 

“Your head will remember to forget me but there will remain some warmth in your heart. And you -”

 

“Will you ever tell me truth, your highness?” he interrupts her, and there is no judgement in his tone; scarcely exhaustion. 

 

She swallows down with difficulties. Her heart moans. “Is that really what you want?” 

 

“Does it really matter? I will forget it all soon enough.” 

 

She laughs because she wants to cry. 

 

It causes him to smile, it almost reaches his eyes, and she is so thankful for him. The next second he is sitting on his small bed and asking her to join him with a hand gesture. 

 

She takes his hand. 

 

.

 

She tells him everything, a candle illuminating his features, and a cinnamon biscuit for dessert. She tells him things she never told anyone before. 

 

How she was born a Savior, and therefore was graced by the gift of bringing back happy endings, how she chose to sail seven seas to touch as many lives as possible. 

 

“...And see, Jones, you are the only person to whom I can not give eternal happiness…” she states, her tone gentle. There is a smile in her voice and tears in her smile. 

 

He fixes her with his brow furrowed and this softness in his eyes. She delicately grabs his hand, plays with his rings. 

 

“...I can not give you your happy ending because you are mine.” A pause, to let him understand the depth of her words. “Saviors do not get happy ending, Jones.” 

 

She lets go of his hand, a little bit as if his touch had burned her. She fears he will be angry at her for getting close to him, for allowing this when she knew they were doomed from the start. 

 

“I was selfish. I couldn’t cross your path and just...run away.” 

 

Pathetic. She can not bring herself to gaze at him, shame is strangling her. 

 

Warm fingers eventually lift her chin. She reluctantly lift her gaze, discovers Heaven on earth.

 

“And I’d beg you to do the same again,” a kiss on her cheek, “again,” her closed eyelid, “and again.” His lips find her mouth, places there a very chaste testimony of his love for her. 

 

. 

 

He is terribly brave. 

 

Does not flinch as she hands him the potion, even dares to grin, to taunt destiny. Confidence sparkles in his eyes, something very childish in spite of everything. 

 

She admires his features from afar, makes as many memories as she can, engraves in her mind each detail of his skin: the length of his eyelashes, the mole on his right cheek, the pearls of green in his eyes. 

 

There’s this moment, where he presses the bottle to his lips, and she almost throws away each one of her conviction to be with him forever. He sees it, in the jolt of her hand, her fingers reaching for him. He lowers the beverage, lets her take what she needs. 

 

She’s quick to stand up, legs tickling from despair, and presses her lips above his. She savours the taste of him, the touch of his skin underneath her fingertips, the way he kisses when he remembers loving her. 

 

She hates herself then, for letting this last for far too long, for falling in love with him, for watching him do the same, for having seen this unfurl over them without moving an inch. For getting used to his dishevelled hair in the morning, and the tender naivety of his love, and the fiery of his hips colliding against hers. 

 

Eventually, she must say goodbye. 

 

“Are you sure you really want this, your highness?” 

 

And to not look at him, as if she were able to see anything apart from her own tears, to desert the battlefield.

 

This is for the best. This is for the best. This is for the best. 

 

.

 

The next time she meets him, it is fairly similar to their first duel. 

 

“Why hello Captain.”

 

“Why hello lieutenant.” 

 

It warms her heart. To seduce him once again, to make love to the greatest Captain in the seven seas. 

 

“Are you sure you’ve got to leave ? I shall not forget you ever.” 

 

“That’s too bad for you, your highness. For you might not forget me ever, but I shall not even remember your name.” 

 

. 

 

Some others time are less cheerful. Some other time are wanting to hug his body until her own bones break, and to find in his eye utter oblivion. 

 

To yearn for someone who will never come back. 

 

.

 

The fourth year, her heart shatters to the ground in an horrific sound, bloody splinters at her feet. (She’s surprised nobody turned around to see the cause of such a disturbance.)

 

Captain Jones no longer wears leather pants, Captain Jones probably does not even go by ‘Captain’ anymore, this one title they had always refused to each other. Captain Jones has grey strands in his hair and a little girl in his arms; she has vibrant blue eyes and honey curls. 

 

At the feet of the little girls, a woman. She is beautiful, with her young features. Kindness rings in the depth of her hazel eyes as those very same honey curls surround her features. 

 

It’s horrendous to see fate at work, horrendous to think this is all she ever wanted for him, and he is happy, and she can not be happy about it. 

 

She returns to reality in the blink of an eye, swallows down, discovers her legs rigid and heavy, and how hard it suddenly is to walk away. And never look back. 

 

.

 

She does not come back. Ever. 

 

Follows her path, her duty, her destiny, her fate.

 

Saviors do no get happy ending, after all.”

 

.

 

“Hello my boy, are you alright?” 

 

Henry Mills startles, looking up from his storybook to discover a man in his bedroom’s door frame.

 

Not any man. The man he has been thinking about since he started reading this newly found tale. 

 

“Hello Killian. You’ve come to visit mom?” 

 

Which would be quite the weird idea, as Regina Mills and Killian Jones do not go along that well, to say the least. 

 

A smile cracks the man’s figure while wrinkles birth at the edges of his blue gaze. He has very tender eyes, Killian, but they are so hollow. They seem to yearn for someone who will never come back. 

 

One look at him and one could tell just how heavy his heart is. 

 

“No, Henry. Actually, I came to see you. Your mother has told me you were quite hypnotized by a new story in your book.” A pause, Killian licks his lips, considers him with caution. “Would you like to talk about it?” 

 

Henry inhales deeply, bites his lower lips. Thanks the lord for this opportunity. 

 

“Now that you ask, yeah.” 

 

.

 

It has been tough, explaining this story of a pirate Captain meeting a certain lieutenant Jones, without being as subtle as a brick into his face. 

 

“...And see, she decides to love him despite knowing she will not get her happy ending with him. It’s selfish, but in the end, she choses the right thing to do, and allows him to live his happily ever after with someone else. It’s pretty brave.” 

 

“...So you’re telling me each bloody savior is doomed to not get their happy ending. Therefore, this one chose to make her lover forget about her. Wasn’t there a third way?” 

 

Killian’s interest in the story causes the kid’s enthusiasm to reach mountains. 

 

“I’ve studied a lot saviors, and I know she could have just stopped being the savior to save herself. But-”

 

“- she was too good of a person,” sighs the man next to him. 

 

Henry’s fingers are tingling around the pages: Killian’s reaction is everything he expected from him. 

 

“Lad tell me, could you lend me your book tonight. I would like to read it myself.”

 

He could probably throw up of happiness and excitement. 

 

Words come out of his mouth before he can think about it.“You too, you feel it?” He has a hard time controlling his cheerful tone. “You can tell that this story did not appear just for the sake of it, can you?” 

 

“As if -” begins Killian, “- as if somebody had wanted to send us a message,” they finish as a single voice. 

 

A smile. 

 

*Zelda Fitzgerald.


End file.
